


Short Stories

by go_we_li_s_gi



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Original Character(s), Original work - Freeform, Short Stories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-05-09 21:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14724182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/go_we_li_s_gi/pseuds/go_we_li_s_gi
Summary: this is a series of short stories i've written.





	1. The Deer

Something woke you up in the middle of the night. You wake only to find the night soundless. Not even your sleeping spouse, sprawled on top of the comforter, is emitting any noises. The both of you are dressed as if it’s summer and very hot, but goosebumps are on your skin and the breath escaping your mouth is a hot steam. You climb out of bed, your feet wriggling into your slippers, begging for the heat to take you. Your lungs are aching from the cold air as you slip your robe on. It’s made out of that type of faux fur, you can’t remember the name for it, but it’s so soft and warm, like nothing else.

The room is as it always is, your spouse in your bed, the kittens sleeping in a pile of laundry. There are all sorts of paintings on the walls. Some of them are psychedelic, and you'd be lying if you said that those ones didn't scare you. Your spouse has insisted, “Alba, you don’t understand the fine arts.” You always reply with, “I’m sure you've read so many of Dostoevsky's great works, Ophie.” to which she snorted from laughter, coughing up smoke. Some of them, however, are classics by Falero and Monet. You stare at the juxtaposition of a Tame Impala poster right next to The Magpie by Monet.

You walk to the other side of the bed to look at Ophelia. The light from the window is still grey, the early morning beautiful and cloudless outside. Ophie was always so peaceful when asleep. Her hair is buzzed on the sides with her bleached-white hair that sits in between the buzzed sides in a bedhead. Her face was round but with a defined jawline, her eyebrows thick and brown and her mouth hanging open, her full lips parted to reveal her gold canine tooth and the gap in between her two front teeth. The first thing Ophelia ever did as a way of flirting with you was squirting milk through her tooth gap at a boy who was getting too comfortable with his arm around your shoulders. You kiss her forehead, and she stirs, closing her mouth and smirking a bit, but remains asleep.

You cross the room and open the door to go to the kitchen, and realize that not even the door is making any noise. All you can hear is your own breath and footsteps. The shag carpet you walk through is stained in one spot where one of your kittens, Ayn, had vomited once. You take your time getting to the kitchen and open the fridge. The quesadilla from yesterday is still there, so you pull it out and carefully tear the saran wrap off. You stick it in the microwave and punch in REHEAT. The Microwave is, again, soundless, and doesn’t beep like it usually does. While you’re waiting, you go to the bathroom to wash your face. The bathroom has a floral wallpaper, several different soaps scattered across the counter, and a glass pipe lays in the corner of the sink counter.

You turn on the faucet, and the water comes out but is, again, soundless. It’s fresh and cool and clear. You lean down and your cupped hands full of the liquid splash it onto your face. You look up at the mirror.

There you are. Alba. A bead of water drips from your nose. You’ve always been pale, with big, curly, almost white, blonde hair and lavender hooded eyes, sun spots everywhere. Your lips, often called soup-coolers, were chapped, you noticed. You pulled a peppermint chapstick out of the pocket of your bathrobe and applied it to your lips. The new sheen to them and the cool feeling of the peppermint satisfied you. You didn’t know why. You stare at your wet face. The water dripped from the faucet, soundless still. And after staring at your face for a bit, oddly disoriented, you finally hear something.

What was it?

You walk out of the bathroom, peering through the window in your door to look upon the Suburbia you inhabit. In the middle of the road stood a deer. He is as pale as you were. Albino. The both of you. His eyes are a piercing red, his antlers far too large to stay on his head. Yet there he stands, head perfectly upright, scraping the ground with his hoof, beckoning for you to follow him.

You stare ahead at this otherworldly deer with great admiration, and, in almost a trance, you follow his command. You don't even shut the front door behind you. Your slippers scuff against concrete as you follow this creature. After many blocks of houses of various colors and similar styles pass by you in a blur, you find yourself at the beginning of the path leading into the neighborhood park. He stops, and you come to his side, collapsing into him. You’re too tired. He lifts you up forcefully and you clamber onto his back, your drowsy eyes threatening to shut.

As you continue your trek, you find the path becomes more littered with leaves and branches, animal droppings and stones. The branches of trees seem to reach out to you, longing for the touch of someone. Many scrape you and get stuck in your hair. You grip onto the beast's antlers, steadying yourself. You see a branch sticking blatantly out of one tree filled with berries. You reached for it, to touch it as it seemed to want to do. You yanked it out of the tree out of an impulse.

You stared at this branch of berries held loosely in your hand as you felt the deer shift under you, walking further and further down the path. This was how Ayn threw up and left a stain on the shag carpet. She had eaten a bowl of huckleberries that her stomach didn't respond nicely to. Yet these berries were different, red as the Deer's eyes, seeming to glow through every shadow that crossed by.

You remember the milk propelled from in between Ophie's tooth gap splashing into the boy's face, his facial features twisting into a grimace. The milk as white as the Deer's fur.

You remember Ophie, sleeping peacefully on top of the comforter as if it was hot in the house. You remember the ring she gave you, still adorned on your left ring finger. You remember unpacking every single box when you moved in together, in one day. You remember the time she bought chinese takeout and spilled hot wonton soup all over herself. You remember when she cried in your arms because of her father's death. You remember the spider she killed because you were too scared to go near it. You remember her tan when both of you went to the beach while you just got sunburned. You remember the look on her face when you brought the kittens home. You remember he smoke escaping her lips while she stared lovingly at you painting.

The cold hits you again, debilitating this time, your teeth beginning to chatter instantly. The cold slowly but surely makes all of your memories of Ophie turn to white noise, until all you can focus on are the berries still in your pale hand.

Are they poisonous or not?


	2. The Girl Above My Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story of a girl named Renee finding love. I tried aiming for a more "Catcher in the Rye"-esque style.

I remember it so clearly.

The small speaker of my old TV crackled with a late night news show blabbering on and on. Something about  Soviet troops backing off from Afghanistan after nine years . I was attentive at first, then I began to fall asleep. I was waiting for something. The humid air of my small house made me want to fall asleep even more. The damn windows were open but the house still felt like a billion degrees. The sound of the second TV was so loud I could barely hear my own set. 

When I tell kids I got two TVs, they think I’m rich or something. But I’m 90% sure my dad stole the set I have. It doesn’t even work right. You can’t turn the volume any higher than 15 and you can't change the channel. The screen has a crack in it, too.

I got up and wandered to the living room to spy on what my dad was doing. Probably drinking himself to sleep. When I finally got to the living room, the empty cans of beer, half-empty bottle of whiskey in his hand, and his loud-ass snoring all confirmed it. I think it’s kind of sick that you would laugh at something like that, just in general, but it’s so normal to me to watch that old man fall asleep in his crappy couch watching the TV with drool coming out of his mouth with an unfinished bottle of whiskey in his hand that I laughed a little anyway. He was probably  _ dreaming _ of alcohol.

When I went back in my room, my big crochet blanket was still lying on the floor, the news program still droning on and on. This time it was about President Reagan naming Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream as Small Business Persons of the Year. I sat back down, grabbing my big-ass bag of Cheetos and fishing in to grab a handful of them when the TV cut to static. Finally!

It took a while until the static ended, then a blank white screen lit up the room. Black letters started to appear on the screen, a stupid line in it from the crack.

 

LOVE?

 

I scooted closer, until my knees touched the TV.“Yeah... yeah, I’m listening.” I muttered, staring at the screen with wide eyes and my mouth was kind of open. I probably looked stupid.

The screen remained white before another set of words flashed onto the screen.

 

YOU WANT TO MEET?

 

I swear you could see stars in my eyes. “Hell yes...” I whispered.

 

MEET ME AT THE BEACH. AT THE CLIFF’S EDGE.

 

I didn’t need to be told twice. I threw on my t-shirt and my crappy, ripped-up jeans over my tank top and boxers. Grabbed my backpack and stuffed it full of money, clothes, my cheetos, and these books I don’t even read, the Nancy Drew series.

After snatching my jean jacket off the floor and turning off the TV, I tiptoed my way out of the house. Hell, I still had my slippers on. I just wanted out of my trashy house.

It didn’t take me long to get to the public beach. It’s kind of bad, like the rest of my town, but at least people are sensible enough to not chuck their junk on the beach. I hate seeing that. It looks so nasty.

There’s this cliffside with a big sign that says “SHARK-INFESTED WATERS” with a nice painting of a shark under the words. I slowly made my way up the hill to the tip of the cliff, and there she was.

My stargirl. Her snow-white hair billowing in the cool ocean breeze, her pale skin and impossibly, entirely blue eyes illuminated by the moon. She was wearing this nightgown thing I got for her the first time I met her, on account of the fact that she didn’t wear anything before that and it made me feel weird. 

She still wore no shoes or socks though, and I thought that was odd. She kept telling me that her skin isn’t like mine, that it’s more tough, but whenever I touch her she feels softer than anything I’ve ever felt. Softer than flannel and softer than silk, even though I’ve never felt the latter.

She ran to me, jumped in my arms. I picked her up and twirled her around like you see the guys do in movies. She’s so light. She’s told me that’s because her bones are hollow, like a bird’s. 

“Renee, my love.” she whispered. She’s got this super soft voice, and she pronounces everything really crisply. She ran her hands on my head, over my buzzcut, and had me bend down so she could kiss my cheek.

“Saros, babe.” I whispered back. She latched onto my arm, as if I would disappear at any moment, and we began to walk, her leading the way. 

“You got anything in mind?” I asked. “You’re the one who wanted me to come here.” 

She stood on her tiptoes to give me a peck on the cheek, then set herself down and continued to walk. We were going towards the beach. For whatever reason, I was getting more and more nervous. I could feel my ears heating up, my heart fluttering against the inside of my chest.

“Whoa, babe, what’re we  _ doing _ ? I hope...” I trailed off when she put her finger to my lips and made a shushing noise. We continued to walk down the stretch of the bluffs until the lights of the little beachside diner were visible over the sand dunes. 

The Pelican Palace. It started out with a different name, before I was even born. But they changed it to The Pelican Palace due to the fact that a group of pelicans started to roost on the roof of the place.  _ Nice  _ place, too. It has these nice porthole windows in it like a submarine. The inside is painted a nice light blue and there’s one wall that’s made entirely of glass. We walked across the parking lot, then into the diner, through the blue-green door with the porthole window.

“How’d you hear about the Pelican Palace?” I asked as she led me to a booth with a couple dirty plates still on the table. The diner was so empty except for the lifeguards and the workers at this time of night.

She beamed up at me and explained.

“I was wandering one day and just happened across it.” She patted the space next to her in the empty booth. I squeezed in, sliding to her side. The nightgown I had gotten for her was one of my mom’s. It was baby blue satin with this white collar and buttons. Looking at it on its own is kind of sad, especially when I remember mom herself, but on her, it makes me quite happy. She gazed up at me with those big, blue eyes that matched that dress and straightened herself up to kiss my cheek. I returned this peck with an open-mouthed kiss, as if I was starved for her touch. No, not as if. I was. Whenever we were apart, all I thought about was her delicate and soft hands and lips, her huge blue eyes staring up at me. As a result, whenever we saw each other, I couldn’t keep my hands off of her. 

It seems desperate, ‘cause it is. But I live in such a small town, I can’t do this with any other girl. And I don’t want any other girl. I want her, forever. I want her in my everyday life, when I’m older, to brighten up and fix my trashy house. But in the back of my mind, I know it’s not possible. She’s told me so many times she has to leave town soon. So I make the most of every encounter, my touch starved hands holding her close. 

We were interrupted from this kissing session when I heard someone clearing their throat. We looked up, and to my relief, it was Diana. 

Diana’s the only other chick in town who like other chicks too. She’s got a wife, but she says they’re just roommates to people who don’t know her, since they’re not really married by law. You can’t do that yet. She always wears this pin that says “DYKE TO WATCH OUT FOR” and I think it’s pretty neat. 

“Didn’t know you had a girlfriend, Renee! What’s your name?” she nodded in Saros’ direction. Almost too soon, Saros started to respond joyously. 

“Sa--”

“Sadie! Her, uh, her name is Sadie. Sadie... O’Connor.” I interrupted, laughing nervously. Diana raised an eyebrow and her eyes flicked between the two of us.

“Cute name. Where are you from, Sadie?” she asked. I broke out in a sweat. If I answered all of Diana’s questions for Saros, I’d look like a jerk, but if I let Saros answer, she’d look like a freak.

“My dad and I live in our van and go from place to place, so technically I’m not  _ from _ anywhere.” she lied. She glanced at me over her shoulder with a teasing smirk, and my cheeks heated up. She’s so much better at lying than I am, I should have let her take the wheel from the start. 

Diana made a remark of appreciation, putting her hands on her hips. “Nice. I can appreciate the hippie nomad life. Anyway,” she whipped out her notepad. “What can I get you two lovebirds?” she asked.

I stuttered, but then Saros decided to order for us. 

“Could we get two cheeseburgers, two sides of fries, a plate of hushpuppies, and a large coke to go?” she asked, like a local. I sat dumbfounded at her, and Dana scribbled the order down, confirming that it would be ready in a bit before heading over to another table. 

I laughed breathlessly at her. She winked at me, then nestled her face into the crook of my neck.

“Where’d you learn slang like that?” I asked. I could feel her smiling against the skin of my neck.

“I just listened to other people ordering when I first came here.” she explained plainly. It was no big deal to me at first, but then I thought about how the day shift must have felt when they saw this really pale girl in a blue nightgown and nothing else show up in the diner. Probably nothing, since Diana didn’t say anything. 

We sat like that for a bit, in silence, until our bag full of food came. I slapped a 20 on the table when Diana asked for us to pay up and told her to keep the change. We said our goodbyes, then strolled out of the diner with our bag full of food. When I asked her what we should do now, Saros said she wanted to walk more on the beach, that she had something else to show me. So walk along the beach we did, my arm around her shoulder, hers around my waist. 

We walked and walked down the rocky sand until we got to the mouth of this cave, then she told me to sit down. I obeyed, and pulled out the coke from the bag to sip from one of the straws.

To my surprise, she didn’t sit next to me. She decided to sit  _ on _ me, on my lap. I didn’t mind, but she’d never done that to me before. 

“Saros... what’s happening?” I asked, voice trembling. I wasn’t scared of her, just nervous. She was always so confident, and I admired that. Me, however, I’m an insecure wreck around her. I’m so nervous every time she takes touching a step further than just touching. And she had never sat in my lap before. She started kissing me, and I knew that was what heaven felt like. You read that in every single cheesy romance novel with some muscly guy on the cover, but when the bible-thumping Christians in town scream that all queers go to hell, you start to compare more and more things you do with girls to heaven, just to spite them. So this was heaven. She was heaven. Her lips were cold, but still my cheeks and ears burned.

She drew back and smooched my forehead, then drew back again to look at me. A whirring sound could be heard faintly, and it got louder and louder. I peeped over her shoulder, stretching just to look.

It was the “van” she was talking about earlier, with lights striping the underside of the plate-like ship and making the sand underneath where it hovered vibrate. No doubt her _dad_ was inside too. I’d never seen her ship before, but I pictured it to be a bit bigger than it was. It was only a few yards away, but it seemed like it would only hold about five people. 

“What is this?” I asked breathlessly, still holding the coke dumbly. She gripped onto my shoulder and looked up at me, this big beautiful grin on her face. 

“I want you to run away with me.” she said casually, like leaving the town I knew forever and grew up in was no big deal. Like it was as simple as snapping your fingers.

I stood there with my mouth open, my cheeks heating up, my eyes watering. 

“Saros, I _can’t_ leave. What about _school?_ What about _my dad?”_ She still stared up at me with that big beautiful smile and stood on tiptoes yet again to kiss me on the lips. This kiss was lengthy, a rush of excitement came through me when she pressed her lips to mine, and I grabbed her by the waist reverently. 

I wasted no time and grabbing our food, my backpack, her hand, and rushing with great difficulty towards the ship near the shoreline, kicking up sand and laughing in response to Saros’ laughing face. 


	3. Were We Ever To Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some exercise with poetic descriptions regarding being lesbian in a Catholic community, without ever mentioning the fact.

_Were we ever to love,_ we would love so wholly mountains would tremble at the sight of our unions, made again and again and again.

 

_Were we ever to love,_ we would love so fully that the faces of every person who looked upon us with scorn and spat vitriol at our feet would become blurred and soon gone, disappearing into Hell.

 

_ Were we ever to love...  _

_Were we ever to love,_ we would have a love so holy, the angels those hateful people praised would weep with joy at the sight of our arms linked. God would part the pale heavens to shine sunlight upon our lovely faces. The shackles bound to us by hellspawn would crumble and fall below to the guts of Hell itself as our lips would meet in a marriage of souls. Choirs would sing notes so high it would seem like cries of exuberance as our spiteful upbringers watched on in piteous indignance.

 

_Were we ever to love,_ I would make sure our shared home and hearth would remain unsullied by hatred, I would tend to chores of the house and get paid for my paintings while you worked that office job as a designer that you love, you would come home in the late afternoon to cook dinner and watch nostalgic animated movies on our  TV set.

 

_ Were we ever to love. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me just clarify that this is a writing EXERCISE i thought i would share uwu


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